


One Good Turn

by literal_semicolon



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Becoming A Hero, Gen, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2019-11-01 03:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17859503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literal_semicolon/pseuds/literal_semicolon
Summary: The story of how "you," an apparently average person, join the Avengers.A fanfiction based on my friend's recurring dream.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My friend had a dream about how she joined the Avengers and was offered super powers (she could choose two). This is my interpretation, approved by my friend. 
> 
> Also, I don't have a beta or whatever, and I'm used to writing in past tense, so let me know if I missed an accidental tense change somewhere. It should all be present tense, except for in conversation.

You aren’t aware of what’s happening around you. To be fair, you’re on your way to work, and your brain has mostly been on autopilot as you followed your daily routine this morning.

Your eyes barely leave the screen of your phone. Swipe card. Turnstile. Step through the doors.

How are you supposed to notice the unusually high population of children and the absolute lack of adults?

You don’t even glance up until you realize the train hasn’t stopped when it should have. It isn’t even making the usual stop announcements.

You tuck your phone into your pocket and finally take a good look around. Children sit in groups up and down the set of cars, and a couple of young toddlers cry while the older kids comfort them.

You find the oldest other person on your section of the train—a teenager tugging at the collar of his hoodie. “Excuse me,” you say, “what’s going on with the subway? Are you guys okay?”

Instead of shrugging or answering, the kid presses his lips together and backs away from you.

The subway comes to a sudden, screeching halt, and he falls into you. You barely catch him and yourself. A chorus of wails makes its way down the train as smaller kids fall down.

“Hang on,” you say, stepping back from the kid, “I’m gonna check something out.” You head toward the front end of your section and look through one of the windows.

The next section of cars also has a few groups of children. But towards the far end, you see some adults . . . in matching uniforms. You’re not sure what to think, so you move to hide as much as you can. You watch the reactions of the children through the window. Even the older ones look scared.

Your heart jumps into your throat, but you move back to the oldest kid again. In a hushed tone, you tell him, “Listen, you need to get all the kids to the back car. Now.”

You think he senses your intent, because he quickly tells the other older children to take their siblings to the back.

The train starts up again, and you’re not sure if it’s even on its usual track anymore.

You head toward the back of your section where the kids are crowding, not sure yet if there’s another car behind that. The door bursting open behind the children answers that question. They scream. You scream.

But the burly man in blue holds up his hands to show he’s not dangerous. That’s when you recognize him. Captain. Frickin’. America.

The kids move out of his way and he says, “We need all of you to move to the back.” He gestures behind him, and your gaze follows past him—to Black Widow, already ushering kids through to the next section.

You move to follow the kids, but then you hesitate. “What about the kids further up?” you ask.

Cap nods. “We’ll take care of them. You should get to safety.”

Black Widow is still holding the door. “Relative safety,” she corrected.

You reluctantly follow the children, allowing her to shut the doors behind you. As your door shuts, you see the one further up the train open, and the uniformed people seem to pour in as they pull out weapons.

You look back past the kids, but the windows are dark. You’re in the last section of the subway.

You pat your pockets, but you have nothing but your phone, your keys, and your wallet. You didn’t even think to grab your switchblade before you left this morning. (It’s been so long since you worried about getting mugged. Where is that paranoia when you actually need it?)

You turn to the kids. “Do any of you have anything resembling a weapon?” you ask.

Of course, the younger kids shake their heads, and so do most of the older ones. One kid yanks the string out of his hood. “I don’t know how much this might help, but it’s all I can think of,” he says. A few other kids follow suit. One girl takes a pencil out of her hair. It’s not exactly sharp, but it could do some damage.

You hold up the pencil. “Anything else like this?”

In all, they hand you four fat laces, a pencil, and two pens.

You wrap the end of one lace around your left hand and grip an uncapped pen in your right. The ultimate goal is to not have to use either, but if necessary, you’ll at least _try_ to defend yourself and the children.

You return to the front door and watch as two Avengers systematically take down a horde of bad guys.

As soon as you lose sight of them, you tell the kids to stay where they are and pass back through to the next car. You’re not sure if the bodies lying around are alive or not. Guessing by some of the awkward angles of the limbs, you make the assumption that if they _were_ alive, they’d be in a terrible amount of pain.

You carefully walk between them; it looks like a path has been cleared for the other kids to make their way back. But considering the scene before you, you think that may not be the best idea.

A flash catches your eye. A double-edged knife. No doubt the owner won’t be using it anytime soon. You tuck your pen away in your back pocket, with the other two makeshift weapons, and carefully take the dagger with two fingers. Until it’s in your hand, you’re not even sure if it has blood on it.

A commotion up ahead snaps you back into reality. You don’t have time to worry about cleanliness, or look for the sheath. You grip the hilt of the dagger and dash up the rest of the way to the next door.

Through the windows, you see Captain America guarding the children while Black Widow takes on a few enemies. The kids are on your end of the train, blocking a good portion of your view. Maybe that’s for the best.

You duck down and carefully open the first door, balancing on the balls of your feet as you pass through and shut it behind you. The second door is trickier. You don’t want to startle the kids and give yourself away.

You put yourself at about eye-level with the bottom of the window. A girl, maybe ten years old, makes eye contact with you. Her eyes widen in panic. Your first thought is to show her you’re not one of them; you stand up a bit taller to show her your button-up shirt. It’s not a hero’s uniform, but it’s not an intimidating black uniform like the bad guys are wearing either. Then you duck back down.

She comes over and cracks open the door.

You whisper, “What’s going on? How can I help?”

“We were supposed to be safe, but the scary grown-ups found us anyway,” she answers.

“Can I come through?” you ask.

She whispers to the kids near her, then turns back to you and nods. The two of you slowly inch the door open enough for you to fit through.

Holding the knife in as safe a position as possible, you weave between the children until you’re in a position where you can see the fight.

Black Widow knocks out two men in quick succession as you watch. The remaining enemy is an intimidating, lithe woman with a shaved head.

She’s a pretty even match for Black Widow.

You see Captain America glance anxiously at the children behind him. It’s at this point that Dark-and-Scary gains the upper hand.

You grip the knife in your hand tighter and look for an opening. You don’t know how to properly throw knives, but maybe you can distract the other woman long enough for Black Widow to take her down.

Your nerves almost get the better of you, but when an opportunity presents itself, you stand abruptly—heart racing—calling out, “Hey, buttface!” before chucking the knife in her general direction.

You miss entirely, and it clangs against a pole, but it has the desired effect. She snaps her head around to look at you, and Black Widow uses that moment of distraction to knock her over and pin her down.

You approach slowly as the redhead presses her knee into the other woman’s throat, forcing her into unconsciousness. She looks up at you and notices the hoodie lace dangling from your hand. “Can I have that?”

You hold it out and she quickly unravels it from your hand, using it to tie the other woman’s hands together and to a pole. Then she strips her of all her weapons and gestures for Captain America to continue up the train.

The kids, who have been absolutely silent to this point, start crying. A couple of the older ones struggle to comfort the rest.

“Thanks,” Black Widow says as you hand her the remaining laces to tie up the others.

“They’re probably not great for tying up bad guys,” you say bashfully.

She gives a half grin. “I meant for the distraction,” she says. “And it’s more about the knots than the quality of the rope right now.”

She stands and limps a little as she makes her way over to the kids. “Anyone hurt?” she asks.

They shake their heads, and one of the older kids says, “What about you, Black Widow?”

She smiles. “I’ll be okay. And you can call me Natasha.” She turns back to you. “How are the others?”

You take a moment to process her words before remembering the other group of children. “Oh, they were fine when I left; maybe a bit scared.” Your voice is steady, but your legs tremble under you and you have to sit down.

She notices. “It’s shock. You might want to lie down.”

You glance dubiously at the floor, then a bench. You choose the bench, and Natasha nods and turns to face the front of the train.

A solid minute goes by in silence before the train starts taking a solid turn and she sighs. “He got the train to the turnaround point. We should be back to our rendezvous stop in a few minutes.”

One of the guys who is tied up rouses a little and mutters a swear word.

Natasha marches over to him, barely limping now, and says, “Not in front of the kids!” and kicks him hard in the face. He’s out like a light again.

You’ve never pegged Black Widow for the type to be good with children, but she surprises you. When she gets back to where they’re crowded, she says, “Why don’t you guys tell me a story?”

One of the younger boys, maybe six years old, asks, “What kind of story?”

She smiles and sits on the floor. “Well, what kind of stories do you like?”

He thinks about it and starts telling a story. It’s his interpretation of a kids’ movie about a fox and his best friend.

The crying fades to an occasional sniffle as Natasha and the other children listen, apparently rapt.

The train slows to a stop just as he finishes.

* * *

The kids are safely handed over to government officials, and you overhear Captain America and Black Widow discussing with a couple of them while you are given a bottle of water and a comfortable seat.

You only recognize a few words, including “Hydra,” but you don’t understand the context. One thought occurs to you, but you shake it off. Hydra is just one of those Nazi conspiracy theories your friend Jordan is always going on about.

When Natasha approaches you, you ask, “What _was_ all that? Who were all those kids?”

She shakes her head. “That’s classified. Sorry. Why did you get on the train anyway? We had the whole line closed down ‘for repairs.’” She uses air quotes.

You shrug. “I didn’t hear anything about repairs, and no one stopped me.”

She frowns. “That’s probably where they got on board, then. They must have taken out the security on your stop.”

“‘They,’ who?” you ask, unable to stop yourself.

She just crosses her arms.

“Right,” you say. “Classified.”

After a brief pause, she says, “Can I ask what you were planning to do with those laces?”

You feel a blush creep up your face. “I don’t know, I thought maybe I could use one to choke someone out.”

She laughs a little and says, “I would pay to see that.”

You suppose the idea of you, small and unassuming as you are, dangling from the back of a burly man in black while he struggles to throw you off is a rather silly one.

She tells you to wait where you are, and your phone buzzes as she walks away. You pull it out of your pocket and curse when you see the name of your supervisor on the screen. You’re late for work. You check the time. _Very_ late.

Captain America approaches you and introduces himself as Steve. “Can we get your information?” He shifts his weight. “Just in case.”

You sigh. At this point, you’re already going to be written up. It’s not the first time you’re late to work. Then you wonder for a moment: Just in case of what? But they’re the Avengers; it’s not like they’re going to send an army of telemarketers after you. You give them your name and number, and they get you a nondisclosure agreement and a ride to work.

Huh. You guess it really is classified after all. Too bad; Jordan would have loved to hear about your crazy morning. But now you have to think of a mundane excuse for your tardiness before you arrive at work. Oh, well. You’ve been thinking about applying somewhere else anyway. 


	2. Chapter 2

A couple of weeks later, your intercom rings while you’re having a late breakfast. You expect it to be someone who lost their key, since it’s still early in the day and you hardly ever have impromptu visitors.

When you answer, you hear a vaguely familiar voice.

“Hey, it’s Steve,” he says. “From the subway.”

It takes you a minute to connect the dots.

“ _Steve?_ ” You struggle to think of a reason for Captain America to visit you. “Why are _you_ here?”

“There’s something I’d like to discuss with you. Can I take you for a ride?”

You’re not sure where this is going. Did you accidentally spill details of the train fiasco to anyone? Are you in trouble?

“Where?” you finally ask.

“I’ll tell you once we’re in the car,” he says.

Coming from anyone else, that would sound _hella_ creepy, but this is Captain America. If anyone’s the definition of “safe,” it’s him.

You decide that a car ride with one of the Avengers is probably worth leaving the apartment on a day off—even if it means you’re possibly in for the reprimand of a lifetime. “Give me thirty minutes; I’m just finishing breakfast.”

He tells you he’ll wait by the door.

You inhale what’s left of your waffles and speed through a shower. You almost leave with your shirt inside-out _and_ backwards, but you catch a glimpse of the tag just in time to fix it before you leave.

When you get down to the lobby, there’s no mistaking the broad-shouldered figure waiting outside—even in his civvies.

He leads you to a dark, nondescript car, and he opens the passenger door for you.

You smile nervously as you get in. “Taking me on a date?” you joke.

He just grins in response, shaking his head as he shuts the door. He doesn’t speak until he gets in the driver’s seat and starts the vehicle.

“How would you like . . . to join the Avengers?” he asks, pulling into traffic.

After a moment of stunned silence, surprise, relief, and disbelief melt into laughter. “Right,” you say. “Me, an Avenger. Be serious.”

“I _am_ serious,” he says, glancing over at you. “We’ve talked it over. Of course, you’d have to undergo some testing and training, but Nat and I think you’d do well. Even Stark’s willing to give you a shot, and he’s not easily swayed.”

Excitement bubbles up in your chest. “Wait, is that where we’re going?” you ask. “Avengers Tower?” Then anxiety overcomes you at the thought of meeting the rest of the Avengers—especially under _these_ circumstances. “Are you sure I’m cut out for it? I may be hella cute, but last I checked, good looks aren’t exactly a super power.” After a moment of thought, you add, “On the other hand: Natasha.”

Steve chuckles a bit, then answers, “It’s not about your abilities right now; it’s about your potential.”

He pauses.

“Before I became Captain America . . . I couldn’t even join the army. I had all sorts of medical issues, and my body was under too much stress. But someone saw my dedication to my country, and I was chosen to become _this_.” He gestured to himself. “As far as the others go, Nat and Clint—you know him as Hawkeye—have _trained_ to become who they are. As long as you’re willing to put in the work, you _will_ be cut out for it.”

You feel a little better, but still a bit jittery. You make a mental note to thank your cousin, Elliot, for at least teaching you some basic self-defense. At least you have _somewhere_ to start.

* * *

 

When you arrive, Natasha greets you at the elevator door.

“Hey,” she says with a smile. “How’s it going?”

You shrug, but it’s hard to hide your nerves, and even harder to hide your enthusiasm. “Pretty good,” you say. Then you notice her attire. Athletic wear, suited for the gym. “Should I have worn something else?”

She shakes her head. “If you need to, you can borrow something. Anyway, you’re actually starting with Tony today. It won’t be physically strenuous, but . . .” she glances over your shoulder at Steve, “I can’t say it won’t be rough.”

You’re not sure how to interpret her cryptic statement.

“Break a leg,” she says as you and Steve enter the elevator.

The two of you make your way to a room where three tables are set up like three sides of a rectangle.

Tony Stark is standing by one end, fiddling with some type of contraption. There are similar machines all along the two longer, parallel tables. He doesn’t even look up before he says, “Good. You’re here.” He gestures vaguely to the chair in the middle of the tables. “Have a seat.”

Hesitating, you glance over at Steve, who nods.

As you sit down in the midst of the machines, you think you recognize one of them. “Is that a lie detector?”

Still not looking away from his work, Tony replies. “They all are.”

“Isn’t that a little overkill?” you ask.

He finally looks at you, sighs, and goes back to working. “Lie detectors aren’t a hundred percent reliable, so I have backups for my backups.” He points a screwdriver at the table farthest from him. “They all work in slightly different ways, so they’ll probably get different readings. I want to make sure we’re making the right decision.”

The way he looks at you as he says that last bit makes you feel like he’s suspicious of you. You’re not sure what he could be suspicious about, but it still makes you uncomfortable.

After a moment, he says, “Alright, let’s get you hooked up,” and spends several minutes attaching two of the machines to you. He instructs you on wrapping a few tubes around your chest.

“What’s this about?” you ask as you hook them up.

Tony smirked. “That’s part of your run-of-the-mill polygraph machine. I forget most civilians never see what they really look like.” He holds up a blood pressure cuff. “Right or left?” he asks.

You shrug. “It doesn’t matter.” It’s uncomfortable either way.

He snugly wraps your left arm as he continues. “The tubes monitor your breathing. There are two per machine, and we have two of those hooked up. We can only do one blood pressure cuff, and one galvanometer, but we doubled up on what we could.”

He then attaches your first finger and your ring finger to some small metal plates. “These measure your sweat—sort of.”

You follow the cords to see they’re almost all connected to one small machine, and dread to think of how many more wires might be in store for you.

To your relief, the remaining machines monitor you from a distance. They’re all supposedly of Stark’s own making. He doesn’t tell you much about them because, “While the standard polygraph machine is pretty easy to figure out, it’s best you don’t know how mine work. It might taint the results.”

He does some last-minute adjustments on his own machines before he finally walks around the tables to his seat next to Steve. In the midst of all this, attached to several wires, you feel rather like a sixth grade science experiment.

“Loosen up a bit,” Steve says with a smile. “You’ll do fine.”

Tony nods. “If you’re tense the whole time, we can’t get accurate readings.”

“So . . .” you say, grinning slyly in Steve’s direction. “Is this what it takes to get a second date?”

He laughs.

Tony just sighs. “Can we please be serious?”

“Just trying to ‘loosen up,’” you reply. It takes you a bit to compose yourself before the three of you begin.

They take turns asking questions, first getting a baseline to work from.

Some of the questions they ask are morally simple, some are complex, and some are downright silly.

You take your time working through some of them, and you spend a good five minutes just laughing when Tony, straight-faced, asks your opinion on grapefruits.

When you finally answer, he tosses a stern look at Steve.

After almost an hour, you come to your final question.

“Most people get stumped on this one,” Steve says. “No pressure if you do.”

You furrow your brow. Most people? How often do they try to recruit?

He glances at his paper and says, “You have the ability to time travel. Would you go back in time to kill a young Adolf Hitler?”

“No.”

Your answer is quick and decisive.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “No? Care to elaborate?”

“ _Hell_ no?”

Steve fails to curtail a grin.

Tony gives you an unamused stare until you continue.

“Time travel is messy,” you say. “It would create a new timeline. And who’s to say someone worse won’t rise up to take his place?” You shrug. “Plus, it’s unfair to punish someone for their future crimes; they have nothing to atone for, and an early death sentence erases those crimes.”

He finally breaks eye contact with you to glance over at Steve. “Alright, I think we’re done.” He stands and makes his way around to free you from the monitoring equipment.

“So . . . did I pass?” you ask.

He gives a noncommittal hum. “That remains to be seen.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to keep "you" as gender-neutral as possible while keeping to my friend's version of the story, and I'm not doing any of that "(Y/N)" stuff. As a reader, I find it hella distracting, and it takes me out of the story every time.


End file.
